


You May not Rest Now

by Nichknack (BBCotaku)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Smp, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Prison Arc, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCotaku/pseuds/Nichknack
Summary: ‘You may not rest now, there are monsters nearby.’It was something deep. Something innate. Something that had saved his skin on more than one occasion. Now, however, it just made him sick to his stomach.(Based on fan art by @melanchoise)Spoilers for March 4th Stream
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	You May not Rest Now

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the absolutely amazing fan art made by melanchoise on Twitter. https://twitter.com/melanchoise/status/1367808922313134081?s=20
> 
> (Though I did swap Wilbur for Dream)
> 
> Naturally, this is based on the c!Tommy and c!Dream, not their real life counterparts. 
> 
> TW: References to death, violence and abuse, Paranoia.

_There are monsters nearby._

Tommy rubbed his eyes on the heel of his palm. The skin was still tender where Dream had hit him, while The Book may have brought him back it had left the healing up to time.

The pain had come about slowly. Must have taken a while for the adrenaline to wear off, he supposed. Now everything ached right down to his bones; his arms, his legs, his face--oh fuck, _his_ _face_. 

When he’d finally worked up enough of a nerve to glimpse into the sink he’d found his reflection a swollen and unfamiliar mess. Dark purple bruises clouded his cheeks and he couldn’t open one of his eyes yet. His nose was crooked now too, probably broken, though Tommy couldn’t be sure if that had been Dream or the floor rushing up to meet him. 

Tommy’s vision blurred, cutting his thoughts short. His head drooped forward, chin against chest. 

But just as he was about to slip into the merciful embrace of sleep, Tommy felt a familiar shudder run down the length of his spine. 

_You may not rest now, there are monsters nearby._

It was something deep. Something innate. Something that had saved his skin on more than one occasion. Now, however, it just made him sick to his stomach. 

When was the last time he’d slept? If only he hadn’t broken that _fucking_ clock! Then at least he’d know what time it was. 

Tommy stared down at his open palm, turned it to reveal scabbed knuckles. For a brief moment, his fingers shifted from five to ten and back again. He had to close his eyes to stop the room from spinning. 

Could phantoms spawn in the prison? He wondered. Probably not. If the walls weren’t enough to keep them out, then the light and heat from the lava would be. 

Sam would have thought of that. Prepared for it. 

Sam had prepared for everything. 

Well. _Almost_ everything. 

Looking back now, it seemed like an obvious mistake. Who the fuck would let someone in here with Dream? Even if he was unarmed?

What really stuck in Tommy’s craw was how Sam hadn’t even bothered to move his body. Did they really care so little of him? Would they rather he rot or burn? 

_Do the others even know I died?_

Dream had said they did, but Dream’s word didn’t mean shit. 

Surely Sam would have heard the screaming--or the lack of it. 

And what if he _had_ heard it? What did that mean? 

Was the protocol really that important?

_You know it is. You signed the fucking book._

With a small grunt, Tommy lay down on his side. Despite the sweltering, thick heat of the cell, the steady drip crying obsidian kept the floor somewhat cool. He pressed his aching cheek against it and closed his eyes. 

_You may not rest now._

If not now then when? When he finally died? 

Tommy’s eyes snapped open and it took all his willpower to not throw up. 

He’d heard of people dying to the phantoms, but never of exhaustion. Surely this instinct keeping him awake would give up before his body did.

Surely _sleep_ wasn’t going to be the thing to send him back.

Tommy shuddered at the thought. 

He put a trembling hand to his chest, felt the dull flame of his lone, remaining life.

Only, it wasn’t _his,_ was it? 

He raised his head, facing the figuring that lay prone on the cell’s lone bed, one arm tucked neatly behind his head. 

Dream could have been sleeping, or he could have been watching. It was impossible to tell behind his mask. 

_Bitch even wears it to bed. Just how ugly is he?_

Tommy laughed. It was a pitiful sound, one that split his lip. 

_There are monsters nearby._

Dream would kill him again. It was just a matter of when. Maybe he was waiting for Tommy to fall asleep before he did it. 

Would that be better?

Dream had pressed a quill into Tommy’s hand the moment it became clear that he wasn’t going to fight back. Made him fill up almost ten pages of chicken scratch. Most of it was just Tommy repeating the same stuff over and over again about the void, Wilbur, Schlatt and Mexican Dream. He’d described the void wrenching its claws into his soul and ripping it to shreds and the way the pieces had stretched on and on and the quiet, that _quiet_ that swallowed everything no matter how hard he screamed and that still wasn’t good enough.

Whenever the quill slowed Dream had put a hand on the back of Tommy’s neck, nails digging into his skin.

“I could send you back. Refresh your memory a bit.” 

Tommy had wanted nothing more than to shove the nip of his quill down the bastard’s throat, to bash his head against the wall and see how he liked it, to throw his corpse to the lava to burn—

Panic swelled in Tommy’s throat. 

_You can’t kill me_ . Dream had repeated those words again and again. _You can’t kill a God, Tommy._

Did The Book’s knowledge require a living caster? 

Ghostbur had almost managed to bring back Wilbur after all… If Dream left a ghost behind, what was there to stop him now that he knew The Book worked?

_You may not rest now, there are monsters nearby._

No. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true. Dream was powerful, sure, but he wasn’t a god. A god wouldn’t have to rely on a dead madman to escape containment. 

Besides, Dream lied.

Dream always lie--

Tommy yelped as the figure on the bed shifted. He held his breath, waiting for Dream to jump to his feet. 

But nothing happened. Dream just slept, or pretended to.

Tommy allowed himself a small, shaky breath. 

How much longer could he last like this? A week? He didn’t know anymore.

What he would give to be back in Logstedshire. At least then he could sleep.

Hot tears pricked swollen eyes.

_You may not rest now. There are monsters nearby._


End file.
